


end of the line

by cebw12



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Murder, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 02:44:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7203059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cebw12/pseuds/cebw12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is inspired by someone's post on tumblr, I don't remember who it was, but it was brilliant.</p>
<p>Taking place after 4x09, Mika disguises herself as Rachel and meets with Ferdinand to take her final revenge.</p>
<p>Warnings for violence, dub-con, and dissociation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	end of the line

If she brushed her hair enough, dyed it, maybe she wouldn't have to put it up. Then again, she didn't know how to dye hair. So she yanked, until she made her hair into a tiny ponytail at the back of her head, exposing the blotches of redness she always kept covered.

The wig was itchy, and her hands were shaking the whole time she did her face, watching herself disappear in the mirror into someone she had never met in person.

The underwear, the lace, she couldn't help but run her fingers over it. When she stood, she felt awkward and clunky, but that was insignificant compared to her voice. She tried to make her words sharp, instead of the soft, withdrawn speech she had adopted.

When she saw herself finally, in all of it, her heart pounded and little beads of sweat smeared her makeup, and she had to sit down. Breathe. This is for Nicki. This is for Beth, and the sisters Beth needed her to protect. Breathe.

-

The hotel room was empty, and the air buzzed with her nerves, whispers that danced on her skin and made her squirm. The wig was itchy.

Someone was knocking.

Her heart picked up again, this time pumping right under her eardrums, deafening. Breathe.

"Hello, Rachel."

His smile made her want to set herself on fire. And him with her. They would burn together. The air had stopped buzzing, and for that she was grateful. It was replaced with a hard, metallic taste in her mouth, and Niki's hands, gentle on her shoulders, pushing.

"Hello," she said, almost a whisper. And his face moved, and she wanted to run. Could he see through her? Could he tell that her makeup was two layers too thick? That her voice was stuck in her throat? That her feet were _burning_ , partially because of Rachel's shoes, and partially because of the adrenaline pulsing; _run! Run!_

"Sit down." Her voice came out louder if her back was turned to him, she realized, even though he might notice her posture, that wasn't _quite_ demanding enough.

She heard the sound of fabric against fabric, he was shifting his weight. He was on the bed. Good.

She took in a sharp breath when she finally looked at him, because he had three of the buttons on his shirt undone, and he was working on the fourth. And he had that smile, that sick, sick smile, and she felt Niki push her again, _finish this._

And then she was on top of him, and she hoped he wouldn't look at her stomach, heaving in and out, because she was choking, and she felt like she might vomit. 

"Aren't you forgetting something, Rachel?" _Yes. I am forgetting to wipe that smile off your face_ , she thought. Breathe. The time will come.

Ferdinand dug into his back pocket, pulled out the zip ties. She didn't smile, just looked, _yes, yes, this is what we want. This will make it easier._

When she tied his hands, he looked up at her, expecting. Her stomach turned. And he reached up, pressing his mouth into hers, his teeth grazing her bottom lip. She turned her head away just enough to separate them, _good. He trusts us, now._ She reached into the drawer in the bedside table _a_ nd his eyes glinted, anticipating.

She had never used a knife before. Not like this. She used a butter knife in the kitchen. It was heavier than she'd expected, than the last time she touched it. And it weighed on him too, because he shifted, he sunk away, “ _oh._ "

"Don't worry," she tried to coo, sing like Rachel, but she knew it was all wrong, her face hadn't moved. He had to know.

But she felt comforted enough, the weight in her hand, tracing down his neck, his chest. And he was making a nervous giggling noise, and all she could think was _shut up._

She slapped him across the face. She drew her hand back, the impact burned her palm. He worked his jaw, made a _hmm_  noise, and then he smiled.

_Do it, now._ And she did. And his smile came clean off, and she only watched his eyes while the bright, cherry red ran down his chest and onto the sheets.

And then Niki was there, and she was saying something but MK couldn't understand, because she was flickering like a light switch, there and then gone, and he was flickering under her. They couldn't exist at the same time.

But his breaths were becoming more and more desperate, and his body was convulsing, and his appearances got shorter and shorter, until he was gone. And she looked up. And Niki wasn't speaking anymore, just watching. Then she walked around the bed, and kept walking. Out the door.

MK wanted to call out after her, but her throat was burning and she was choking again, and she ripped the wig off of her head even though it tore hairs with it.

She would not cry for him.

She would cry for the red that wouldn't come out from under her nails for the next week.


End file.
